Castles Made of Sand
by bipolar broadway baker
Summary: Things are settling back down in the Batcave, and the Winchester boys- with Charlie, Kevin, and Castiel- are just starting to slow down after the madness of the angel tablet. A night in the unchecked artifacts of the Bunker lead to new circumstances, though, when a teenage Dean and young Sam are seemingly transported from their 1995 life, into the 2013 world of their future selves.
1. Chapter 1

**HAPPY HALLOWEEN! **

** Here's your present... :) review or I won't continue.**

** This is a teaser! I wasn't gonna put this up until after the next installment of Minor/Major, but it was Halloween, and you guys deserve a treat. **

** This is an AU in the way that the Hallelujah verse is AU. I gave season 8 a happy ending and made it Destiel. This includes past!prostitute Dean, and tons of emotional whumpage... prepare thine selves... **

** Warnings for non con, depression, and maybe some self harm. **

** Enjoy!**

The Bunker was quiet as the Winchester brothers relaxed in the aftermath of another successful hunt. Charlie was sharing in their celebratory whiskey and exploration of their new lair. Cas had zapped himself away somewhere with nothing but a peck on the lips and a murmur of "being home" soon. Dean blushed at the idea of his angel considering the Batcave they all shared as a "home", fiddling absently with some ancient tome of spellwork written in some Baltic language that made zero sense to Dean. Kevin was sleeping for what had to be the first solid amount of time since deciphering and helping them expel the threat of the Angel tablet. Dean didn't care if the kid slept for a week- he'd earned it.

"Oh- um..." there was a bang and crunching sound that practically broke the freaking sound barrier and Dean scrambled for his gun, placed carefully in reach on the nearest table. Charlie smiled sheepishly "Oops" there was a weirdly reddish dirt and shards of ancient looking terracota strewn across the floor of the library.

"Come on, Charlie..." he ran a hand exasperatedly down his face- he loved the girl, but she was a damn butterfingers...- He wasn't even actually mad at her. She just gave them a scare. "Are you okay?" She nodded guiltily.

"... What is that stuff?" Sam spoke up, snapping shut the book he was rifling through. The shattered urn was smoking.

"Charlie- C'mere..." Dean eyed the smoke anxiously. It was red and deep purple, lit by a light within it as it grew from a plume to a pillar billowing against the ceiling. The red headed woman that Dean couldn't help but think of as a little girl, shuffled over to him, skirting the pile of mysterious powder. Charlie was apologizing profusely, until Dean just couldn't take it anymore- there were bigger worries here. "Shh. It's alright, just... What the Hell is goin' on?" Noises and shadows had started to echo and dart around in the hazy smoke, and Dean subconsciously felt his own hand cocking his gun. He raised it to the pillar of smoke that was getting louder and brighter, until it wasn't noise, it was voices.

He looked at Sam, sharing a look as if maybe he held some sort of strategy, but he only shrugged, confused and nervous. His little brother had his own gun trained on the smoke. There were now gruff, arguing voices garbled through the veil.

"Dean!" His eyes shot to Sammy in terror, thinking something was horribly wrong. But Sam hadn't even said anything. The voice was too high and young, and it came from inside the portal of smoke in the center of the room, not the man in front of him.

"Sammy, STOP-" his heart felt like it had dropped out of his chest at the sound. He hadn't heard it sound like that in a long time, but it was still all too familiar.

Two young boys tumbled out of the mist, and it dissipated in a directionless woosh of wind that blew through, turning pages of open books and buffeting their hair. Sprawled on the floor, the kids took a minute to get their bearings. Dean couldn't blame them- he definitely needed a sec. He barely recognized the teenager, but he knew the moppy little head with him no matter how much he grew.

That was a carbon copy of Sammy. Probably 7th or 8th grade. But the equally dirty, bowlegged young man under the kid was up and glaring before anyone could really get a good look at him. Dean didn't need to look at him though, not with an exact clone of his own gun pointed at his face. The teen pushed his little brother behind him, and glowered at Dean with fierce green eyes.

"Who are you?" he growled, voice already dropped, but still higher than Dean's was now. If he wasn't so shocked at the whole ordeal, Dean would've had to train a smirk. "Where the Hell are we?!"

"Lebanon Kansas. November 18th, 2013."Dean answered him on autopilot, staring at just how hardened and tired the kid looked. He knew his childhood was shit, but... he buried the pang of compassion in his chest, trying to focus on the what, the how and the who that was going on right now.

"Real funny, Smartass." he cocked the pearl handled weapon "What. Are. You?"

"You really don't wanna do that, Kid." then he was painfully reminded of just how good it felt to kill his Demon self and his Leviathan self "Okay, maybe you do, but I think you'll regret it."

The teen let out a dry laugh, pulling Sam, kid Sam- closer to him "You don't know a damn thing about me- now answer me!"

He knew the kids weren't demons or anything. The bunker was cleverly defended and warded against pretty much everything- save angels- by the Men of Letters. They had to be human.

But how were they here?

"Your name is Dean Michael Winchester. You were born January 24th, 1979, and you're afraid of airplanes. You started hunting at the ripe old age of four, when your mother burned alive in your baby brother's nursery." it didn't feel right to talk about it- it never did. The kid looked pissed enough to shoot him right there, but Dean knew he wouldn't. His jaw was clenched, and a vein jumped in his neck, his wiry muscles and broad shoulders were taut and squared. He glowered suspiciously, but he didn't dare shoot.

Dean was starting to get through to him, but he had to keep talking.

"Your father drives a 1967 Chevy Impala, and you've got an arsenal in your trunk against pretty much every evil S.O.B. out there." the kid wasn't any more convinced than before. He was afraid he'd have to get personal. "You can still smell the smoke and feel the flames when you just wake up after a nightmare. It scares you every single time."

He was answered by a ringing silence, and he could feel every set of eyes on him. He wanted to squirm under the attention, but held his ground, meeting only the teenager's green gaze.

"Dean...?" he heard Sam- his Sam- utter, and he could hear the concern and the sadness and... he was not gonna let his brother pity him like some damaged little kid.

But he was. And now everyone could see it.

He ignored his brother, and stepped closer to the familiar boys, lowering his gun and stepping out of Charlie's hold- it was supposed to be soothing after that little speech of his, he guessed, but it really just set his teeth on edge.

"Kid, I get that you're confused- trust me, we are too- but we're human. I swear, okay? I-" he choked a little and covered it with a cough "I'm you. In 2013. That's Sam-" he gestured to his gentle giant, who'd long since put away his gun "and this is Charlie" he heard a murmured "hiya" from close over his shoulder and let himself smile a little "You don't know her yet, but she's awesome."

"We're in the future?" the teenager tried the words, finally seeming to get it, and Dean took a deep breath.

"Yeah. Now, how about you put the gun down, and we all try and figure this out?"


	2. Chapter 2

** I'm making this my story for NaNoWriMo. :) thank you for all the reviews, they made a shitty day a little bit brighter. **

** There's this beautiful fic that is one of my absolute favorites, and even though it will never be referenced it this one, I guess you could think of it as a loose prequel of how season 8 ended up a happy ending. It's called The Prophet Must Die, by imogenbynight. It's so good, Guys. So good! I read it on AO3. **

** Enjoy Chapter 2!**

Castiel arrived only moments after Dean sent out a prayer to him. He and Sam had congregated everyone in the kitchen, getting drinks and food for the skinny little time travelers. Was this possible? Dean was pretty sure this was a paradox, and if science fiction was anything to go by, that could potentially end very badly. He carefully filtered everything he he said to the teenagers, and didn't really know how to answer most of their questions.

Needless to say, when Cas appeared in a ruffle of wings, it caused some ripples in their tentative pond. It took what felt like forever before the kids finally sat down and took "it's a long story" for an answer, but they got back to business with Cas standing close behind Dean's chair. He studied the newcomers with a long look.

"They are human" he nodded at the silence "Definitely 'legit', as you say." Satisfied, Dean breathed out a sigh and a quiet "thanks Cas", looking back at the young Winchesters on the other side of their kitchen table.

"So, how old are you guys?" Sam spoke up, breaking the awkward quiet- clearly amazed at just how small he had been before his second growth spurt.

"I'm 13"

"17"

Dean remembered 17. it was the year he finally dropped out of school to help on hunts and take care of Sammy. It was also the year that he realized those feelings he'd been having for the past few years before were his bisexuality, and that his near constant sadness and irritability were actually Depression. Considering their lifestyle, an easy year was damn close to impossible, but 17 was especially difficult. It was the year that he was first ever... _with_ a man. That memory niggled under his skin like he was gonna be sick. Dean hoped nobody noticed how he leaned back into where Cas's hand was on the back of his chair. The angel's thumb smoothed lightly across his back muscles as if he understood the discomfort. He didn't actually "understand", but Castiel was remarkably good at reading him- and while that usually terrified Dean, it soothed some of his nerves to feel the familiar warmth. His heart ached that he ended up with someone so wonderful.

17 was a hard year, and the proof was sitting at his kitchen table at prime angstiness, with a mistrustful green stare and a body of boney muscle and scars and freckles. Just sitting across from the kid made the hunter uneasy.

"How about you? You said it was 2013?"

"Yup." Dean popped the P and topped off his whiskey "I'm 33 years old."

"30"

There was a long pause, and both Dean's sipped their respective drinks in disturbing unison. The teenager carefully placed his cup down pointedly after present Dean. Then, half afraid of the answer, Dean asked

"What town are you guys stayin' in?"

"Normal, Illinois. Are we gonna talk about what the Hell is going on, or are we just catchin' up?" Dean snapped.

Normal, Illinois in 1995. Dean had hated it. They got ditched there by Dad when he got convinced that he had a particularly good lead on the Yellow Eyed Demon. He left them with a half spent credit card and nothing in the fridge but hot dogs and a half carton of milk in a shitty motel room. Dean when doing everything he could: he picked up spare shifts at a local garage, hustled pool, even turned a couple tricks for some middle aged perverts. Ends still didn't meet. It wasn't til about a week in that it really went to shit.

The scummy motel manager checked up on his scammed card.

He made the wrong call in saying he'd do _anything_ to keep the cops out of it. The guy had apparently been plotting about some "alternative payment" methods for a boy as "tight and beautiful" as Dean since they booked the room. It still made his stomach churn.

The kid in front of him was haunted. Dean knew it because he still was: from Hell, from the Apocalypse, Purgatory, and even whoring himself out to keep food on the table for Sammy. Dean had tried to back out of the deal once it went beyond his usual giving head, and became being forced to bend over the desk of the bastard's back office. But the door was locked, and his grip was terrifyingly tight around him- his entire body weakened from the malnutrition and lack of sleep- and the slimy, chapped lips pressed against the back of his neck. He tried so hard to make it stop, but that just made it hurt more-

Dean took a deep breath when Cas put a hand on his shoulder, hiding how the new contact made him jump.

"I have no clue what went down." Sam said, still sounding distant to his older brother.

"Well, how did Henry end up here?" Dean chipped in, shaking himself out of his memories "he used some sort of spell, right?"

"There were some runes carved into the pot." Charlie piped up.

"What'd they look like?" Kevin was on it in a hot second. The kid was a damn good translator, and anything was easier than the Word of God.

"I don't know- unless it's the Tolkien language of the Elves- everything's a squiggle to me." Dean caught his younger self flashing a little smile at the reference out of the corner of his eye.

He also caught both Sammy's yawns.

03:35 AM

"How about we figure this out in the morning?- Well, morning when the sun's up, at least.." he grumbled a little, shooting back the last of his whiskey and standing next to Castiel, away from the table.

"We can't! We have to get back home! Dad's gotta be looking for us- we just got zapped over a decade into the fucking future!" The teen was up and snapping again. Damn, he was a pain in Dean's ass.

"Your dad isn't even there- you know that! He ditched you to follow old Yellow Eyes. How long ago was that? Judgin' by the looks of you little gremlins, it's gotta be at least two weeks ago."

It definitely shut him up, but the flash of pain in the kid's eyes made Dean burn with guilt and his heart broke a little in his chest.

"Shut up." he almost whispered it, angry but completely void of bravado. He knew in that moment that Dean remembered and knew exactly what he was going through back in Normal, 1995. What kept happening, and would keep happening whenever money got too tight for the little family to bear.

"I'll show you where the guest room is." Sam piped up, looking curious and concernedly- Dean was surprised that his face didn't stuck like that- between the two Deans.

"Dean, what's the matter?"

The hunter rested in bed- now his and Castiel's, since he and his angel took the leap into whatever relationship it was that they had- letting Cas wrap his arms around his waist and stroke his fingers up and down his spine. The angel was warm and firm and Dean wouldn't have let it happen with anyone but his angel.

He had to let him in sometime, but now he felt vulnerable and shaken, a living representative of his past sleeping two doors down and Dean could just cry.

But, Dean Winchester didn't cry.

Not now- if he did he'd probably never stop..

A kiss was dropped in his hair.

"Dean?"

"... I don't wanna talk about it, Cas." his voice was rough and he could practically feel the hands of the motel manager scratching down his back with Cas's soft fingertips. Bile burned up the tunnel of his throat, and he swallowed it down, rolling away from the warm body that loved him, and to the empty side of the bed.

Blue eyes bore into the back of his head in the dark of the room, guilty tear rising up and clumping his dark lashes.

He felt weak.

The whole ordeal had been so far away. He was adjusted- at least, he had been. It was just another horrible memory in his arsenal of horrible memories, until his young, damaged self wandered into his way-too-complicated life.


	3. Chapter 3

** How exciting! I'm loving writing this story! If you love reading it, leave me a review, please!**

** Enjoy chapter 3**

Sam was the first one up. The delicate silence of morning was peaceful and strange. Dean was up first every morning- making a fresh pot of coffee and leaning against the kitchen counter with the laptop opened to a local newspaper. It almost felt like Sam was dreaming as he padded across the floor, through the rooms of the Bunker, searching for a sign of life.

He liked to think he had a pretty good memory. Thinking about how he grew up wasn't his favorite passtime, but he'd spent all night tossing and turning, trying to remember Normal, Illinois at age 13. They bumped around a lot- that much he knew. Dean had a perpetual cold, and worked all hours of the day. Money was tight, especially in Normal that year.

Dad thought he was hot on the trail of Yellow Eyes, and ditched Sam and Dean at the closest motel out of the line of fire. He was gone for months at a time, but it was hard to keep food on the table, even when he was there. Sam remembered the argument they had when Dean dropped out of school. Dean was always the mediator, making peace between Sam and John- to see him and Dad explode like that was rare and terrifying. For the first time, he started really thinking about it- was it always that scary when _Dean_ broke up _his_ fights? He was struck through with a pang of guilt and compassion for how his brother so diligently took care of him. Dean lost his childhood the moment he ran out of their burning house with Sam in his arms.

He had a strong memory, but he didn't ever remember his brother being this_ thin_.

Dean stood in the library with his back to him, the muscles of his back were were tense and his t shirt draped over his shoulder blades when they jutted out as he moved. The young man looked pale and cold, almost gaunt, crouching barefooted on the floor in front of the dirt where he and his brother jumped the timeline. He wore a big gray t shirt that Sam gave him to sleep in, and his own worn pair of jeans. He looked so _young_- it was weird to feel like the older brother as he watched him.

"G'morning." his voice wasn't really higher than it was now. Not so much as it wasn't as rough. He sounded quiet and almost timid compared to to his current Dean.

"Sleep okay?" he already knew the answer. Sam only asked to fill the awkward silence.

"What do you think?" the 17 year old snapped without even turning to look at him.

It was silent for a long moment.

"Want a cup of coffee?"

The teenage Dean finally turned around, rising gracefully and spilling his cupped hands across the center table, splaying out terracotta shards across the wood. The kid took his other hand and displayed his half-drunk cup.

"Already made, Dude. I made a fresh pot- should be out there."

Sam chuckled a little, disbelieving- some things never change, and Dean was still one resourceful bastard. "Huh- thanks.." Dean gave a curt nod, turning back to his pile of broken clay. Sam took a long second to stare, before deciding to go get his own cup. He inhaled the scent on his way back to the library, padding up to his brother's- teenage version- side. He felt the kid's eyes follow him suspiciously as he stopped beside him at the table.

He remembered his brother as being so tall. But, looking at Dean right now, he was about six inches shorter than Sam. The fabric of his t shirt swamped him- Dean was blade thin and pale. The freckles that Sam almost forgot his brother had stuck out and made him look even younger.

"Did you eat?"

"I'm fine."

There wasn't a scrap of fat on the kid- all hard muscle and wiry bones. He was not fine, and he was closing himself off. Sam sighed- some habits just never die.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna put those runes back together. We can find out what we're dealing with, and the sooner we'll get back."

Sam bit back the wince as he thought about the boys "going home". With time travel, there were so many things to consider: the stress, the paradox, the how, where, and when... and there's always the possibility of being stuck.

But, the Winchester boys had to get home.

"Look, Kid-"

"I have a name. I'm guessing you know it."

"Dean," he choked a little on the name "What do you remember about getting here?"

The striking green eyes clouded a little and frown lines softened as young Dean sighed, dropping into the chair behind him. "I don't remember a damn thing. I was wracking my brain last night, but there's nothing. It's like I stepped outta the smoke and it wiped my brain clean." he stared at the powder on the floor, absently fiddling with a piece of the pot. Sam thought hard, wondering about how a jar of dirt could start a thing like this.

The piece of clay clattered to the table, slipping through Dean's fingers and slicing one open. Blood gushed from the wound and the teenager cursed, pressing his other hand to the bleeding and muttering something about it being "too early" for this. Without a though, Sam grasped the boy by the wrist, pulling the bleeding hand to his lap. Dean gave an indignant little cry, trying to pull away, but Sam was stronger.

"Let me go." he whined, but his voice sounded a little too tight for Dean's usual pouting. Staunching the bleeding with a dish rag as he led him through the kitchen, Sam tugged out the bulging first aid kit. Dean gave futile little tugs against Sam's grip, but he didn't say a word. Tenderly, he replaced the rag with a strip of gauze while he dug out the disinfectant and butterfly closures. It wasn't quite deep enough to stitch.

"Ya know, I could do this myself." Dean grumbled from where he leaned against the counter. Sam smirked.

"Well, too bad." the frown deepened "I wanted to help- besides, this is easier when it's done by someone else." that, at least, got him the twitch of a smile "So, how're you taking all this?" and the walls went back up. The teenager raised a brow and shot him a dry look of "Are you serious?" that Sam hadn't seen on his brother in 4 years.

Dean changed with his return from Hell. Now he was too haunted by torture and combat for a look like that. Dean joked, but he was in too much pain to laugh much anymore. What still niggled at the back of Sam's mind was that this kid looked almost as emotionally battered as Dean, post-Hell and Purgatory.

He didn't remember anything to cause that all the way back in 1995. Dean hid things from him, especially the things that hurt him- he always had. He constantly had to fight to talk to his brother. Sam almost openly rolled his eyes at the thought- he was long since sick of his brother lying to him.

Sam cleared his throat "Let us know if you get anything off that pot." Dean finally got to pull his wrist out of Sam's grasp and shot him a mock salute as he retreated to the door.

"Yeah, whatever Sammy."

Sam shook his head and chuckled as the teen swaggered away, padding down the hallway with Sam's massive t shirt swaying down where it hung off him.

"Good morning, Sam." he jumped a little at the gravelly new voice, and turned to see Cas walking through the entrance to the kitchen from the bedrooms.

"Hey Cas- Where's Dean?"

"Showering." he sighed, his entire body sagging a little against the kitchen counter "He's acting... strange." the angel looked like a lost puppy, concern flooding his blue gaze. He sounded so confused and lonely. Sam poured Cas a cup of coffee.

"Strange how?" he'd noticed it too. Dean was hiding something, but he never hid from Cas. It heightened Sam's senses to his brother, and Dean must really be hurting to run from the only person who knew every inch of him. Cas knew that, but Sam knew how the angel worked- not as well as Dean, of course, but the angel was still his friend- and he wanted to talk this out.

"He... He is pulling away from me. I'm reaching out again and again, but he won't tell me what's wrong."

"Well, that's not really new- it's Dean. He always shies away from this stuff." Cas shook his head vehemently.

"No. Not like this, Sam. Even when we don't talk, he takes some type of solace in me, but he's physically pulling away now. I reach for him, just to to feel him there, and he shrugs back, turns away... it just started last night, but it's so strong. I can feel his discomfort." he sighed, sipping his coffee. Cas looked so forlorn, it made Sam think of all the times he'd listened to his friends relationship problems at Stanford. It was a crazy deja vu to see Castiel, Angel of the Lord, sitting in his kitchen with his brother's pajamas on and absently scratching his 5 o clock shadow. He looked exhausted and concerned and hopelessly confused. "I just want to be there for him, I want him to feel better. Whatever it is that's hurting him, I want to help, but he's so...?"

"Distant?" Sam supplied.

"Yes." he sighed "What should I do?"

Sam didn't really know what to say. Dean had never been really emotional, and he was emotionally constipated like no one Sam had ever seen. But, settling into a semi permanent living situation, combined with the end of the angel tablet business, Sam's trials illness slowly healing, and finally acting on his feeling for their resident angel, Dean had been getting better. This whole time travel business was screwing with all of them, but Dean was acting like he was _ashamed_-

"Mornin'" the winter chill was just starting to settle in Lebanon, and Dean was riddled with goosebumps as he entered the kitchen, towelling his hair and looking at the ground.

If Cas was exhausted, than Dean was about to drop.

Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his green irises stood out sharply against the bloodshot whites. He looked like he'd been crying. He tried valiantly to hide it, but he was a little hesitant in walking across the tile of the floor.

"Good morning."

"Hello Dean." Cas straightened up a little, setting his cup down to give his lover his full attention.

It was still kind of hard for Sam to think of the two as "lovers". Dean- for all his fierce loyalty and deep connections with those close to him- was about as loveable as a porcupine. Cas was still a toddler in Sam's mind. They were rarely more than brushing their hands together, and that was only when they were exceedingly comfortable, or thought no one was looking. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that they loved each other, but it was a very private thing for them.

Now, Dean was barely even looking at Castiel, giving both of them no more than a half assed smile.

"Dude, did you sleep at all?"

"Mind your own business." he growled without any actual bite.

"Just saying... you look like shit."

"Yeah yeah. Thanks Sammy." he mumbled, pouring a coffee.

He disappeared into the library, and Sam could hear the quiet curse when he realized who the teenager from last night wasn't a dream.

There was a beat of silence.

There was something wrong with the Deans.


	4. Chapter 4

**Guh! New chapter... This stuff is gonna get pretty rough, soon. My meds have completely ripped my emotions to shreds. I feel dead all the time, and the only time I feel any relief is when I'm writing these stories. **

** Please review and let me know what you think. **

** Enjoy**

"I'm gonna grab a few more books- dig out Dad's journal. Maybe that's got something useful." Dean dismissed himself from where everyone was researching in the war room. He walked stiffly from the room, absently rubbing one of his wrists and looking increasingly tired.

"What's up with him?" Charlie broke in with worry creasing her forehead, rubbing a hand down her face and trying to focus her latest ancient, dusty book.

Sam and Cas just shared a look, still wondering how to deal with what was going on.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" she chirped, glancing between the two of them.

"Something's wrong with Dean..." Cas practically groaned, sagging back onto the tabletop and pouting in the direction of the doorway his hunter just disappeared through.

"Well, yeah. Duh" she prompted "Something as in...?"

"He's stand off-ish, not sleeping, and constantly avoiding being touched. He's anxious, jumpy, he got out of the shower and he'd clearly been crying..." the more Sam talked about it, the more worried about his brother he got. He was acting like he was when he'd just got out of Hell- traumatized. And that was nerve wracking, to say the least. "And he's desperately trying to hide it all." as always.

Charlie frowned. Cas sighed. Kevin and the young Sam entered. The boy was still wary of being away from his brother. They stood and listened as the angel continued to speak.

"I just want to help... I can feel the energy, the bad energy radiating off his soul in waves. It's painful to see him like this..." the redhead visibly melted at the angel's words, genuine concern for Dean, and his relationship with Cas, plain on her face. Charlie put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his arm a little in support.

"Have you told him that?" she asked gently. Cas nodded. Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. Cas nodded morosely to her.

"Last night. He pulled away. I tried again this morning, but... it was aggravating him. He definitely didn't hide that." he picked at the hem of his t shirt- Dean's worn old Metallica one- and frowned "Dean told me he was fine, and fled to the bathroom."

"What're you guys talking about?" the 13 year old asked, not suspicious, but instantly alert at the sound of Dean's name. No one knew what to say- the kid knowing about anything, especially about Cas and Dean's relationship, could make the future different. Sam didn't even know anything beyond a creeping suspicion of his brother's sexuality until maybe a year ago. Right after Purgatory. If Sam knew at 13, what could it change- "Wait- last night? What were you and Dean _doing_ -?"

"Has your brother been acting weird lately?" Sam cut in, thinking fast, but also finally getting to ask himself what he wanted to know "... in your time?" the kid narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in a frightfully familiar way.

"Weird like...?"

"Is he avoiding being touched? Uh- not sleeping, acting dismissive-"

"You just practically described my brother." he deadpanned "He's like that all the time. Anything else?"

"He didn't used to be like that, though" it was half a plea- he couldn't even remember if he was right. It was a half crazed hope for Sam to think that he hadn't been missing strange behavior for his brother since he was 13, maybe younger. "Look, I'm a little new to the whole paradox thing" he gestured between them "but I know for a fact that we've both seen Back to the Future, and I don't know how much I can tell you. But I'm worried about Dean- well, _my_ Dean. Your Dean, too, but-"

"Since you and your brother arrived, Dean has been acting strangely unstable." Cas spared Sam the embarrassment of continuing to stumble over his words "We could use your insight as to why your presence would have this affect on him." the angel stood from his place, eyes pleading and blue, focused closely on the young boy.

They were all worried about Dean. He went through these nasty bouts of depression, it wasn't uncommon, and sometimes there wasn't anything to trigger it- he just... distanced himself. But this was different- more like his PTSD. This time there was nothing traumatic, though. No Yellow Eyes, Hell, Purgatory- just Dean backing himself into a corner like a wounded animal. But, no matter what was happening, Castiel had never been shut out, and the angel wasn't hiding how painful it was, and how it scared him. Cas was desperate for some type of answer. The teen looked at him appraisingly.

"You aren't human." it wasn't a question- it was a statement, and almost a threat.

"No, I'm not." Cas stared right back, calm, but treading carefully.

"I'll help you if you tell me what you are." he bargained, walking further into the room, but there was nothing conniving about the deal. He just wanted to feel more safe. Kevin had sat down by Charlie, muttering quietly over a piece of scrap paper. Sam was torn, wondering just how mammoth the changes of their future would be if Sam knew about angels so long ago. It could be catastrophic-

"I'm an Angel of the Lord." the choice was made for him.

He expected pain, or disappearances, or explosions. But nothing changed except the expression on the 13 year old's face, as he rifled through the sudden explosion of questions through his mind. But Cas wouldn't tell him any more.

"Please, tell us anything you've noticed about your brother in the past weeks."

the kid's eyes flicked from Cas to his older self, seeking some type of verification. Sam nodded silently, sitting down beside the boy and hoping he'd speed up before Dean came back.

"He's been sick a lot. Sore throats... he showers a lot- like, up to three times a day. Sometimes, I think I hear him throwing up in the middle of the night. I tried asking him if he was okay, but he just brushed it off and changed the subject. He's been avoiding me. I think it's stress- Dean works himself into the ground. You think it's something else?"

Yes. Dean wouldn't freak out because of financial stress- no matter how young or inexperienced he was at 17. Sam's stomach dropped, and he couldn't really explain why- but he did know that Dean was having a hard time, and he had been hiding something from him for a while. It sounded like a psychological thing of some kind- the crying, insomnia, depression, vomiting and obsessive behavior- they were all connected somehow. Sam wished he held on to his psychology textbooks from Stanford. But the dramatic upheaval- having his unstable younger self drop in on them just as they were getting settled again- wasn't something Dean was taking well. Sam could understand, he supposed. His brother had a breaking point, just like everyone else.

He just liked to pretend he didn't, and it always ended pretty badly.

"So, the books were a bust, but Dad's journal turned up with something interesting." Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing collectively- pausing like deer in headlights- as Dean entered the war room. Composing themselves into a "natural" looking scene was an exhausting and embarrassing affair- all except for Cas and the 13 year old Sam, who either looked down at the ground with his mind racing with new questions, or just staring straight at the eldest Winchester with solemn concern and an amount of unadulterated _love_ that it just made you feel like you were intruding on a private moment. It was all lost on Dean, however, who remained with his nose in the ratty old book as he walked, practically toppling over his time traveling kid brother.

The noise he made was a mix of between a grunt and a scream. Sam immediately scurried out of the way, muttering apologies.

"What're you doing here?" he scowled, but it wasn't really angry so much as it was tired.

"Dean put the runes on the pot back together." he piped up, crossing his arms over his skinny chest "He's looking into the language, but Kevin and I were gonna check some of the books in here, too." It took a second before Dean's face got a little less stormy.

"Good work, Kid." he said, nodding with absent approval as he passed him and set down the journal at the table. "Go get your brother and make him eat something- he looks like he's about to die, or somethin'. He's workin' too hard."

Sam barely bit back the "you would know" that was eating at his brain.

"Dean, you haven't eaten all day." Charlie didn't seem to have the same reservations after the young footsteps pattered back to the library.

"Yeah- well, I don't live like those two. Not anymore- I can afford to skip for the sake of a job." he cleared his throat, clearly telling her to shut the Hell up without words "We got work to do." he flipped pointedly through John's scribbled writings. "There's this legend of these things in ancient and medieval eastern Europe called _Portala Tymni_. They were used to transport their gods and select priests up and down from, uhm Valhalla, or Nirvana, or wherever these gods lived." he cleared his throat, and kept reading "during times of struggle, priests could step into a ritualistic pillar of smoke that took them to conference with the wisdom of the gods."

It took everyone a second to catch up with him.

"So," Charlie said, thinking it through as she spoke "Some civilization in the good old days used some kind of hoodoo to give themselves a direct helpline to the divine. The smoke from the pot beams you up to the Enterprise-"

"How do we know if it's really what we're looking for?" Sam broke in, still studying his brother carefully.

"Because," he slapped his finger down on the open page, and pointed at an intricate little drawing of a ceramic urn almost identical to the ruins in their library. "this is them. There are two- an in door and an out door- and they were called smoke portals by the neighboring civilizations-"

"but, they're meant for _gods_. No offense, but you guys are definitely normal people." Kevin added.

"Yeah, but we didn't follow their super complex ritual for the God thing. We just smashed a jar of really powerful summoning magic with nothing to do and, I think, it latched onto Sam and I and brought us our more naive selves..."

"To impart wisdom?"

Sam supposed it could make sense. They smashed the portal and set free millions of years of powerful magic. Then, that magic summoned the Winchester brothers at- he supposed- a vulnerable point in their lives, and brought them to their more knowledgeable, older selves, to 'impart their wisdom'. Sam didn't feel particularly wise. But it was worth a shot.

"Okay. Suppose this is all right-" he came around to Dean's side of the table, looking down on the shabby old book. He felt his brother tense as he got closer, and filed it away to remember for later. He and Dean needed to have a serious talk about what happened in 1995. "How do we get these boys back where they belong?"

"If we open the other pot-" he read from the scribbled writing "then it should finish the job." he relaxed his posture into the table a little more, huffing out a breath. "But, we still gotta find the other pot." he rubbed a hand down his face- they'd been researching without a break all day, and it was nearly sundown. Dean looked worse every second he was on his feet. He dropped himself into the chair behind him with an exhausted disappointed sigh.

"Why are you so upset? This is excellent work... " Cas inquired softly, focusing in on the green eyed man beside him like he wanted to make every worry disappear. Sam was looking close enough that he even picked up on how Cas's hand twitched, clearly aching to cover Dean's with his own.

"It's nuthin' Cas" he brushed it off "just tired. I'm fine."

Sam was expecting some more dejected puppy eyes from the angel, but suddenly he looked like he reached the end of his rope to dealing with Dean's mental walls. He was mad.

"NO. You're not." he said, loud and clear, and Dean did a double take at his lover.

"Cas- what the Hell, Man-" he stumbled over the words, flustered and blushing.

"You are _miserable,_ Dean Winchester, and I am so confused as to _why_ you're doing this to yourself-"

"PLEEEASE S-STOP"

The scream shocked everyone out of their tense moment.

It echoed down the hall from the library, quickly followed by the clomp of running feet and a very ruffled, absolutely terrified Sam Winchester in the corridor between the rooms. He didn't come all the way to the doorway.

"There's something wrong with Dean!"


	5. Chapter 5

** Another chapter, you spoiled little readers. I was on a roll, and I've got perfect writing weather right now, and this story is my NaNoWriMo Fanfic (I have an original novel, too, but it's not online) so it gets special preference this month. :)**

** WARNING WARNING: pretty graphic depiction of non con. A little abstract, but still bad enough to possibly trigger someone. **

** As always, review and tell me what you think. It really makes a bad day a little brighter when I hear from you guys. **

** Enjoy. **

Lines were blurring together between runes and cracks, and his eyes stung with exhaustion- and _maybe_ he'd cried a little last night- this was crazy. He just wanted it all to be over... but he couldn't stop now- he still had Sammy. He had to look after Sam, get his little brother home.

He fit the last jagged piece of the pot into the sequence of runes, ignoring the tired tremor that was _not _making his hands shake, and sat back in the library chair. His back cracked as his bones shifted out of their long-stationary position. Dean rubbed a hand down over his heavy eyelids and tightly wound, clenched up jaw, almost relaxing in the quiet moment where he and Sam weren't in danger, for once.

"Hey." he huffed out, straightening back up and schooling his exhaustion and pain out of his expression as he got his brother's attention from the stacks of books.

Turns out, in the future, he and Sam had a better collection of books than Bobby's basement.

"You finished?"

"Yeah, no help from you, Squirt." he teased, but his heart wasn't really in it.

"Hey! I sorted all the pieces for you, and-"

"Okay, okay." he ripped a scrap sheet of paper, and carefully drew the runes out, handing it to Sammy "If you're so helpful, you're gonna translate- I know research's your favorite." Sam rolled his eyes with a tried grin, snatching the paper and looking at it for a second.

"What language even is this?" Dean just shrugged- somehow, that managed to sap most of his energy.

"Dunno. That's your job, Sammy." At least he could still tease- or then, Sam would be all over him for "acting weird". Which he he was, but the longer he denied that to Sam, the longer he could keep the the kid eating. He was too skinny already, and God knows he wouldn't touch anything he put on the table if he knew how Dean paid for it.

"It's Sam." he corrected for the thousandth time, padding away in his borrowed clothes and disappearing back into the stacks.

The t shirt he was wearing smelled vaguely familiar, but Dean didn't want to think about the guy that had given it to him as the future of his little brother. He didn't trust any of them- no way. But, damn, if he ever thought he would even hit 33 years old... he didn't know that much, but this future didn't seem pretty decent.

For a couple of hunters living off scammed credit cards, the Winchester brothers had some pretty nice digs. It was like a Batcave of supernatural activity. Against every instinct, he almost felt safe here.

But, there was always that overwhelming sense of _wrong_ about the whole situation. There was another Dean Winchester, sharing his memories, his skill set, his secrets. That man had looked at him whenever he could avoid it. It wouldn't be so painful if the memories weren't so close, so vivid.

He felt useless the first second that he got on his knees for some middle aged creep. But he knew the logic- no money, no food, no room, no Sam- but he still went back with an emptiness eating away at him. But why _shouldn't _he let people use him like this? He wasn't good at anything else- nothing that brought in money, anyway. Spare hours at a garage, and hustling pool only got you so far. Sammy needed to eat, somewhere to stay, sleep...

Sighing and trying to shake off the nagging feeling of phantom hands, scraping fingernails down his ribcage. Dean stood. Pushing his chair back and stretching, he pointedly tugged on the long sleeves of his borrowed t shirt, hiding the bruises that still circled his wrists, and decorated his thighs and torso under his clothes. It was a nauseating reminder of how weak he was-

It hadn't been that he didn't want to say no, he _couldn't_ say no-

The guy hadn't really looked that strong, or maybe Dean just couldn't stop him from the position he was in, or maybe he was too weak- he hadn't slept in days or eaten properly... Sammy needed it more than he did. The man had complete dominance over him, pressing Dean between the hard desk and his hard body, pinning him by his wrists and biting at his shoulders and the back of his neck. Dean kicked out, clawed at the wooden desktop, trying to ignore the tears springing to his eyes and the flutter of bile in his stomach.

"Dean-" there was a hand pressing over his shoulder, and the swollen bitemark underneath triggered terror to rip through him like a bullet.

_"C'mon Baby, you said anything-" a disgustingly tender kiss pressed warm- too hot- against the shell of his ear and Dean shuddered violently. Stuffy, mothball and cigarette air wrapped around him like a scarf pulled too tight as his trembling legs and ass were exposed in the backroom of the motel office. He didn't have to wait long before sweaty, too-smooth hands grabbed onto his flesh and he knew it would bruise as dark as everything else this guy had done to him-_

"PLEEASE S-STOP"

Spots danced in his vision as he came to.

On the floor. With his hands around his head, and his legs pulled in tight to his chest, and -oh no- tears on his cheeks.

Feet pattered and thumped around him, and mutters of "get some blankets" or "What the Hell happened?" or anything else that made him feel _so_ small, burrowed into his brain like mites. Then Sam was down on his level, staring at him like something terrifyingly bad had happened. His big hazel eyes looked right into his teary green ones like he was checking for the Devil.

He had freaked out on Sammy.

"Take a deep breath, Kiddo" a gruff voice came from close beside him, and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, quickly regretting the action in front of Sam. His future self briefly placed a hand on the small of his back to steady him, before presenting a glass of water to him "You're safe. D'you remember what happened?" he asked, business-like and not particularly soothing, but Dean didn't want soothing. It would just embarrass him more, and he guessed no one would know that better than himself. He still felt like he was breathing a little easier with the man next to him. Afraid of what he'd see, the teen looked up just long enough to feel ashamed of his surroundings and duck his head down into his water.

Sammy knelt before him on the library floor. Sam's older self inspected him concernedly from the doorway- or was he looking at the man next to him?- and the redhead and the Asian had cleared out who knows where. Dean probably sent them away- he knew _he_ wouldn't want his future friends to see just how fucked up he was as a teenager. He was so vulnerable, so weak.

"I was working on the runes, and I..." had a panic attack. Flashed back to the day I became a full fledged whore. Embarrassed myself and scared the one person I'm supposed to protect and take care of. He blushed, taking deep shuddering breaths to try and keep out the shame.

It didn't work.

"Yeah." his older self sounded like he'd just gone through the same checklist in his own mind. "Does anywhere hurt? Did you hit anything when you went down?"

He shook his head without looking up.

"Alright." a new voice came from just behind the two of them- he gasped in shock and choked on water, burning in his airways, and started up with full body tremors that were so mortifying that he could just never look up again. "I'm very sorry," that dark haired guy rounded over to his other side so he could be seen " I should've announced myself." he rested a hand over his, and it was awkward and weird, but Dean couldn't deny that he started breathing deeper and calmer. "Do you feel any better?" he could barely get the energy- or dignity- to nod, but he managed.

"You gotta lay down, you look dead on your feet" Older Sam advanced into the room, going to pick up Dean like some kind of fucking bride or something.

"Hell no." he burst out, mostly just desperate to keep other people's hands off his legs and bruises. He leaped up, ignoring the shooting pain through his hips and planting his feet against the sudden fuzziness in his gaze "I'm not an invalid, I can walk." he hoped his growl was more threatening than it felt.

"Dean," his little brother chastised, still nervous and worried about him. That just stoked Dean's fire. Sam should never have to worry about him. "let them help. Please. That was scary-"

"I'm fine." he snapped, looking at his toes, up through the door, anywhere but at the pleading eyes of his little brother.

"Come on, Dean! Who knows us better than ourselves?"

"We have work to do, Sam." he ground out, because that was just what he hated about this whole paradoxical mess. He swallowed hard against the bile in his mouth, and shoved a path to the doorway. He fled the room feeling the eyes of everyone else watching him, stomping down the hall to the basement files.


	6. Chapter 6

** I'm so sorry for the wait. It's been hectic here in my brain. Hopefully I'll have my new chapters for the other two stories up soon... Bear with me. **

** This one's a little shorter, but I hope you like it. **

** Enjoy. **

"So, what the Hell was that?" Castiel could hear nothing but the sarcasm in Sam's dry tone. But, he just didn't understand how he could be so seemingly nonchalant about his brother's health. Sam cared very much, he was obviously worried- but after 5 years studying the Winchesters, he still just couldn't grasp how they avoided emotion.

"It was a panic attack- triggered by a flashback to a past event." he answered for Dean. The man looked tense and embarrassed. That made Castiel want to scream: it was ridiculous and sad and he wanted to bring John Winchester back just to smite him for how he taught his boys what he thought "weakness" was. The angel slowly stepped closer, standing beside Dean just enough to share his radiating body heat- just to hopefully be comforting, but not touching him. He was close enough to see how Dean's hands trembled, but he knew he would pull away if he tried to help him steady them.

"It was nothing- probably just a past hunt that didn't sit well." he cleared his throat and turned away, making a show of pushing in the chairs of the library "happens to all of us, Sammy."

"You didn't have any panic attacks were you were 17, or _ever_- by Normal, 1995, you were with me! For months, Dean. Dad was hunting alone almost all the time." He was shouting now, and Cas wanted to tell him to stop but he knew better. "I'm not stupid." he took a deep breath, and Dean was squeezing the back of the chair he was holding like he could splinter the wood under his palms.

"Dean," Cas felt his voice break over the syllable, and it was startling, but he got the attention of the green eyes he needed to see. "We're worried about you." _I'm so worried about you_. He always worried about Dean to some degree. Maybe that was what love was. Tentatively, Castiel reached out a hand and tenderly placed it over Dean's waist. The skin was warm under the well worn gray henley, and Cas felt the muscle jump in his hand. There was no pressure in Castiel's grip- that wasn't what Dean needed- and Dean could walk right out of the touch if he wanted to. "This isn't like any of the other times..." He'd never been on the outside of his lover's walls like this. It hurt, and it scared him to no end that he wasn't able to gauge Dean's depression.

The man shuddered, sighing as he pushed momentarily into Cas's hand, then pulling away from him. It hurt like a physical punch, and the angel didn't know he could feel this much so negatively. Being without the hunter's heat felt like part of his heart being ripped away. Like watching a baby bird try to fly before it's ready.

"Stop it, Cas. I'm fine." his pathetic excuse for a smile made Cas wince. Sam balled his hands into fists. Anyone who didn't know him better might've bought it, but not Cas and Sam.

"No." Sam huffed with a humorless laugh "You are far from fine, Dean. And neither is that poor kid who was just _screaming_ in here." He bit out the words like he could break his brother with them.

"We have work to do-"

"NO, it's nothing that can't wait."

Castiel stood, dejected and hurt, at the edge of the brothers' boxing match. Dean's entire body was tense and ready to fight, and Sam was red with anger, clenching his jaw against the need to scream. Dean wasn't turning his back on either of them, glaring at his brother, but still watching Cas. He knew they would never attack him, but it ached in Cas's chest to think that Dean felt cornered enough to rely on fighting tactics.

"Those kids are alone in the artifacts of the basement- who knows what they could mess up? We gotta get down there, Sam-"

"They are not alone." Cas cut in "Kevin and Charlie were already down there, before any of this even happened." he called Dean's bluff as calmly as possible-

"No, you just wanna get them outta here before that kid slips up again and 'embarrasses' you again." Sam snapped

"It is embarrassing to be that WEAK!"

"THAT'S NOT WEAKNESS, DEAN! IT'S PTSD!" Sam got right in Dean's face, barely restraining himself from grabbing and shaking his brother. He took a second in the vibratingly tense silence, catching his breath and making another appeal "Dean, _please_ tell us what happened. It's scaring us to see you like this... you haven't been this bad since Puragtory. _What happened_?

There was a long pause. The brothers' looked right at each other. Sam was begging, and he didn't seem to care how plain his emotions were on his face. Dean looked... defeated. He was seriously considering telling them the truth, and his eyes were tearing up, flicking back and forth between his brother and his angel. Castiel tried to let his own emotions show like Sam's, desperately wanting to understand his lover's behavior. They must've stood there for hours by the time the silence was broken along with Cas's hopes.

"We've got work to do." Dean rasped, shouldering past Sam while he was still shocked, looking fed up, but Cas could tell he was actually heartbroken. They both watching retreat after his teenage self, down into the basement. Sam inhaled deeply, trying to calm the rage and impatience he simmered with. Cas let his head drop into his hands- what if this never changed? Even worse, what if Dean did something... stupid.

"Fuck..." Sam cursed darkly, muttering and still working to calm his breathing He tugged his hands through his hair and closed his eyes against what Cas thought he saw glistening in the younger brother's eyes. "What the _Hell_ do we do now?" he tried to keep his voice even, but it didn't really work.

Castiel didn't know. He had no idea how to help Dean, or even bring he current situation to an end. Helplessness was an overwhelming emotion, and for a second he couldn't even think. Dean was slipping away under a mountain of resurgent memories, and his pulling from the from the people that loved him made Cas's heart burn like an alarm was going off. He just couldn't stand watching Dean hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Holy mother of mothers... it's been a damn long time. It's not that I'm not writing, it's that I'm not typing. With the perfect storm of meds, school, holiday festivities, and musical audition week- which I am glad to say is over and I'm soooooo excited to be playing Irene Roth in Crazy for You at my high school- I think I died somewhere in the middle of it all. **

** As always, review and tell me what you think! I've missed you people. **

** Enjoy**

Downstairs, Kevin and a young Sam rifled through their third crate of Baltic and Eastern European artifacts and files. Kevin watched carefully as the boy slammed each packet of paper down harder, not even really reading them anymore. He was staring holes into the back of his older brother's head as Dean researched some other potential region. Sam wore the sour puss to end all sour pusses, and Kevin almost restrained a laugh at the familiarity of the scene. It was awkward to say the least, especially not knowing the details. Kevin reached out, tearing the kid out of his thoughts with a hand on his wrist and a raised eyebrow.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Sam sighed after a moment, looking away from Dean with his frown melting away to confusion and concern. He tugged his hand away from his, but he didn't say no, so he took that as permission to pry just a little bit.

"What happened?"

He took a shaky breath, making sure Dean wasn't listening "Dean... Well, I... I was going back to the library to tell Dean to take a break- ya know, after what happened in the other room." he said lowly "and Dean was standing with his back to me. So I..." the kid's eyes clouded a little guiltily and he stumbled over the words "and Dean- he_ freaked out_. It was like he was dying or something, he screamed so loud... he tensed up, started muttering and cr-crying." he took another deep breath with a cautionary glance at his brother like he was going to combust or something. "It... he's never done that before."

"So, you think something's really wrong?"

He nodded.

Kevin thought so too. He hadn't known the eldest Winchester quite as long, or as well, as Sam or Charlie, but even their resident angel was worried. Charlie kept talking about "textbook PTSD" and her AP Psych class back in high school. Kevin took that class too, at his school in sophomore year. At the time, it was just another college credit to wrack up points with, but he ended up loving it by the end of that year. Sam kept commenting on the distance Dean had created between them all. Cas, though, said the hunter was refraining from the most minor physical contact. He was crying a lot, jumping at the breeze, looking ashamed... It had been a long time since AP Psychology, but it sounded almost like the aftermath of_ sexual _abuse.

It was weird to think of Dean as someone that that could happen to, Kevin couldn't shake the idea. He filed it away for further investigation.

"He's been acting so different lately," young Sam picked at his nails as he spoke "I didn't think about it all that much before- but I barely even _see_ him anymore..." he lamented with worry.

"Why not?"

"Work" he griped like he'd heard the excuse a million times "he's working himself to death, cuz Dad didn't leave enough money."

Kevin frowned at the unspoken "again" in that statement, and he was, once again, very happy to have never met John Winchester.

"Where does Dean work?"

Sam shrugged "Dunno. There's a local garage where he picks up some hours, hustles some pool... But, he can be out all night most nights. I've tried asking where he goes, but he just gives me some vague, bullshit answer." he sighed sadly "That- that dark haired guy: he said it was a panic attack." he huffed a humorless laugh, picking at his borrowed t shirt hem "Dean doesn't _panic_. Ever." he was whispering now, and it sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself "Why do you get them?"

Kevin smiled sadly. Sam was a cute kid.

"Hey- I think I got somethin', Ladies." the gruff voice shattered the moment. Dean waved them over with a grin and the air of the overly cheerful "We got our other pot- problem is, it's in a museum. In Boulder." Kevin understood the sarcasm in the smile just in time for it to disappear. "This sucks."

Kevin would agree, but, if it gave them more time to understand Dean, he was just thrilled to have them.

"I don't know," he interjected a little too innocently, knowing he was stepping on a live landmine "if it gives you some time to rest up and heal from what happened, than maybe it's worth it." He needed one little slip up from the teenager, and if he had to antagonize a little to make that happen, he'd do it.

"What the Hell do you mean- I DON'T NEED TO _HEAL_ FROM _ANYTHING_-!" His voice boomed and echoed off the walls and Kevin hid his flinch. He really did feel bad, baiting the kid... but he just needed to understand.

He shrugged "Either way, it's gonna take some time a planning for a freakin' _heist_, so- sorry boys, but you're stuck with us for a little while."

"WHAT'S WITH ALL THE YELLING?!" Present Dean- perfectly on time- yelled down the corridor of files, looking pissed.

"We've hit a roadblock." Kevin called back, calm as eve, focused on the way both Dean Winchesters collectively decided to not make eye contact with the other. "The other portal's been located."

"Where?" suddenly, he looked all too desperate to be rid of their unexpected house guests, and Kevin felt bad for the less-than-good news.

"Boulder freakin' Colorado." the other Dean didn't have the same reservations. "Behind glass." Dean huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Well, looks like we're pulling a heist..." he sighed

"Are you kidding? That's gonna take forever!" young Dean griped

"You wanna get home or not?" the hunter snarked rhetorically, snagging the top file out of Dean's arms, and disappearing back to the Bunker above.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi there. I'm hoping you like this one, it took a really long time to decide which of these chapters would happen first. I think I made the right choice. **

** This one is a little graphic, but not as bad as it originally was. Still: be wary. **

** Please review, when I say they give me purpose, I mean that knowing you read and care motivates me and my medless, exhausted brain to take another step. Let me know what you think- these stories are like my babies. **

** Enjoy. **

Dean was alone that night. He lay down, lounging on his future self's couch. His skull pounded like there was a bass drum inside his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the light.

He was so exhausted. It weighed his whole body down. Between the insomnia of the last 2 weeks and the... episode from earlier, it glued him to the sofa, and all he could think about was how disappointed Dad would be if he knew what his son was doing- how pissed he would be if he could see him, lazing around on a stranger's couch, not even knowing if Sammy was safe. Letting him out of his sight. It made him feel sick.

He still couldn't bring himself to move.

His eyes closed without him really noticing.

_Snow was just starting to fall in the bitter cold of the November atmosphere of Normal Illinois. Dean shivered vaguely in the pool of light under the streetlamp. It was late. Hopefully, Sammy was asleep. _

_ He hid the trembling as well as he could, his goosebumps being the only was to tell just how freezing he was in nothing but a tight cotton t shirt and his jeans hanging low on his hipbones. He leaned against the frosty lamppost, waiting for his ride. _

_ The feeling of being exposed made him crawl with anxiety and disgust. If Dad was here... well, if Dad were here, he wouldn't be in this situation. But, it didn't help to dwell on that. He had bigger things to deal with. His entire body ached and he felt like he could cry for just a second before he stopped himself. He couldn't meet this guy- "client"- with anything but confidence. Tears just weren't a turn on, especially not when you're paying for the company. He'd never gone this far before: getting into a stranger's car and going to another motel room for this? It was against every instinct he had and he was still tempted to run. _

_ But, back at the motel, their manager was to threaten to go after Sammy if he wasn't paid with Dean and half the motel rent... the teen was half tempted to just shoot the damn pervert, but part of him was more than aware of how stupid that would be. He needed this money, and the guy agreed to $500 of he could have him in "private". _

_ An old pick up crept down the road and slowed when he saw his prize. Dean didn't recognize the car, but the guy inside looked just the same as he had earlier. All too quickly, the car halted in front of his lamppost, and the passenger window rolled down. _

_ He was a beefy, balding, red faced man with dark eyes and a five o'clock shadow that was probably more like seven o'clock. Dean pretended he'd done this a hundred times as he sauntered- and maybe stumbled a little- over to the window._

_ "Hop in, Baby."Dean swallowed his revulsion at the was the word sounded on his lips- like every other pervert who wanted to make him their "baby". Till they were done with him, that is. _

_ The drive was silent, with a meatclaw hand over his knee. To anyone else, the motel would've been shady as Hell, but to Dean Winchester it looked like every other home-of-the-week he and Sammy had had over the years. A hand nudged gently at his back, and trailed a little on his spine, and the teenager suppressed a shudder. _

_ The room was dark and shadowed when he was pushed in, but the light flickered on dimly soon after. He stood stock still for a moment, letting the "client" take his coat off and settle in for their night. Dean took in all possible exits- if this went south- and took his last deep breath for the evening. Just in time for big, calloused hands to grip his already bruised hips and pull him close, plastering his body to Dean's back. His stomach flipped, but he forced himself to grind back a little to appease what this guy paid for. _

_ Dean let himself become pliant in the man's arms for a long while before they moved to what was definitely a dirty, lumpy motel mattress- but he'd barely been there for a second before something new crept along his arm and pinned him down._

_ His heart fluttered with panic, starting to call out, only to have a sock shoved down his throat. There were two men, both burly and large and grinning like the cats who got the cream. Dean tugged against the violent weight bruising his already bruised wrists, and tried desperately to push the makeshift gag out. Sweat made his whole body stick to the sheets and he failed to blink away the hot burn of tears. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could've sworn he heard a voice talking about the "others"._

_ How would Sammy get by if tonight killed him? _

Sam and Charlie were walking and talking after dinner that night, trying to find a way to make Dean confide in them. The need for actual facts- no more blind speculation- was burning and prickling in their minds at all times, and it was getting hard to focus. Sam sighed, running a hand through his overgrown hair.

"I mean, what if Kevin's right?"

"No." he couldn't be, that was enough to make Sam lose his dinner right there. Dean wasn't... he was too strong. He was in committed, _very active_ relationship- he couldn't possibly... not if he had been... "It's just not possible."

"Sam, it's more than possible. You're too smart to not know that." Charlie grabbed him at the elbow with her tiny little hand, stopping him dead in the middle of the hallway.

He did know it. It was fucking terrifying to think about, but Dean wasn't invincible. He just couldn't imagine his brother like that. Or, maybe he just didn't know how he would handle it if it were true. He huffed out a breath, leaning back against the wall and fixing his tired gaze on the redhead's serious face.

"I... I have _no clue_ how I'd handle it... if he were..." Sam couldn't say it. How could he have missed it, after all these years, sleeping _right next_ to him? Who would've even done it? When would it have happened? "If that's true, Charlie, what do we do? How do we help? The way he's been acting lately- I'm... I'm scared he might do something stupid." it took all his strength to admit it, but Sam knew he had to say it out loud. Especially, looking at his brother side by side with his own teenage self, it was so obvious that the kid was hurting. And Dean- his Dean- knew that too. The teenager was an open book compared to Dean, and now everyone could see the tiredness and the anxiety and pain he carried- even as a child.

If Kevin was right, Sam would never forgive himself.

He was about to say so, too, when he heard something. The sitting room door was ajar and Sam didn't have to wait long before it was there again- louder and more distressed. He could only describe it as a whimper. Charlie heard it too, and with a look at each other, they took measured steps into the dim yellow light of the room.

The teenager's thin, blade-like frame was poured out over the couch like he hadn't slept in days- something Sam remembered was frightfully true in Normal, and many other times. He was finally resting, but his dreams were screwing up his face in a look of sheer pain and terror. Tears were squeezing out from under his dark lash line, and he tossed and turned violently, like he was trying to shake something- or someone- off. His breathing was labored and he trembled in his sleep, breaking Sam's heart a little farther.

"Do we wake him up?" Charlie whispered, even though her voice could never wake up someone that far into a dream.

Sam didn't know. So he nodded, but signaled her to stay back as he cautiously moved forward and kneeled at the edge of the sofa. Did he shake him?

"D-Dean?"

He got another whimper, more of a shout this time, and the kid threw out an arm like he was punching someone. Sam's big t shirt slid up his forearm, and Sam felt his heart drop into his stomach.

There were huge, purple bruises circling Dean's otherwise pale, boney wrists like they owned him. It looked like a hand.

He didn't think, he just reached, wrapping his own hand around the violent marks and cradling the appendage close to him.

"no-No.. LET ME GOOO!" Wild green eyes rimmed with red and water darted around the room, but he wasn't really seeing what was happening and Sam stroked his thumb over the tender flesh for just a moment before letting go. Knowing Dean wasn't really here and would probably lash out at any second. "Stop... s-ss-top.. get off." he begged. In 30 years, I've never heard my brother beg. "get-Get off... gett..." he dropped off to sobs, he sounded shattered and ashamed, and Sam knew he was here now. The boy wrapped himself tight in his own limbs like he wanted to suffocate in his own arms, and shook with the effort it took to heave in another breath. The sound alone was enough to scrape Sam's chest clean. He took a moment, just looking at Dean like he'd never seen him before. When he finally reached forward with an "it's okay, Dean..." and a desperate hope that he wouldn't shy away from his hand, he was cut off.

"Don't touch him!"

Charlie had reappeared in the doorway, looking terrified, with Cas and Dean in tow. Sam's hand shot back to his side, and Dean stormed into the room like he had something to hide, and shooed his brother away from the kid with a muttered "Give the kid some air". Dean took his spot, kneeling on the floor. It wasn't til Sam had reached the door that Dean spoke again.

"Well? Get out."

He grit his teeth against the frustration, sadness, confusion- of the whole situation, and Sam left to the sound of choked whimpers and quiet murmurs from his damaged brothers. 


	9. Chapter 9

**The end of this chapter is the conversation that Dean and 17 year old Dean are having at the end of the last chapter. **

** As always, let me know what you think!**

** Enjoy. **

"Well," Charlie choked out in a small voice, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as she broke the shocked silence of the group around the war room table- without their time traveling Sam, who was still diligently sifting through research, oblivious to more than his brother catching up on sleep. "At least now, we know the truth." Her voice wavered.

"We don't _know_ anything- those bruises didn't have to be... He could've... He-"

"Sam- we _do_ know. It's in the open now." The younger Winchester was stumbling and stuttering, shaking his head and staring at each face like he could convince them with just the tears in his eyes. Cas cut him off with a deep, pained breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Did you know?" Sam bit out at the angel, accusation burning in his voice "Before all this, did you-"

"I-"

"How can you be in a relationship- have a "profound bond"- with someone, and not even _know_ they were..." He couldn't say it.

"Sam." The angel never raised his voice, but the unspoken command in the words was more than enough to keep Sam quiet. "If I had known, I wouldn't have brought it to your attention that Dean was acting strange- I would've talked to _him_ about it." The angel's breathing was a little ragged but he still looked straight into Sam's eyes "I will say that, yes, Dean did briefly and vaguely mention a- an encounter that was quite traumatic... He has nightmares every once in a while that he can't stand to be touched after. He's very rattled after them, but until the boys arrived, he seemed to have a better grip on them." Cas dropped his gaze, a single tear falling from where it hung on his eyelashes.

"Well, this still leaves us with the question of how we help him." Kevin broke the tense pause with a somber expression. He'd never been so sorry to be right.

Charlie started crying again.

Sam started prattling on about research and "I mean, we don't have money for a shrink- Dean would never go to one anyway..."

"None of us know what really happened-" Kevin interjected before they lost Sam to his laptop completely "Okay, we know _what happened_, but we're also assuming a lot. Maybe the only way to do this is to talk to Dean."

"He won't tell you much-" Cas stated calmly "if you force him, he'll only shut you out."

It had taken such a long time for Cas and Dean to reach the level of trust they had. The amount of love, understanding, and _trust_ there was more than anything he'd ever experienced. Even with how little the hunter actually talked about emotions and fears, Cas could always read it and manage to find a way to help. This was the first time he'd felt truly helpless with his lover, but he still knew him. Better than anyone- maybe even Sam. Dean would only get worse if he felt cornered.

"But, what if he tries to hurt himself-!" Sam finally cried out desperately. The fear was so evident in his voice that no one even realized for a moment the man in the threshold of the room.

"Hello Dean." Cas said softly, looking over the red eyes and the mortification and shame in them as he gaped at his brother. When Cas had said his name, he flinched visibly, and dropped his gaze to intently focus on his shoes. He didn't come any further into the room. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by Charlie's sniffles and the barely-there whir of the bunker electricity.

"_Why_?" Sam rasped out, with a dry throat and tears in his eyes "why did you never _say anything_?"

"Please- please don't, Sam..."

"No." He started walking toward his brother, advancing on Dean without thinking. Dean lost his fragile composure then, scrambling back a little and stumbling over his own feet. Sam stopped in his tracks, holding up his hands in surrender.

There was a heavy silence, and Kevin and Charlie took advantage of it, gathering themselves up and slipping out the south doorway. As much as he wanted to help his friend, he knew Dean would be humiliated to break down in front of all of them.

"_Please_, Dean..." Sam sighed "I know what happened to you-" Dean puffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head "no, I know- I know that back in Normal, somebody... Some sick fuck r... raped you."

"Sammy, stop it- you don't get it, you think you do-" he was losing control now, and Cas watched with an ache as Dean shook his head vehemently against his brother's words, and Sam just kept on talking and all he knew was that Dean simply _could not_ handle this now. He was breaking under the pressure of his own heart, like he couldn't breathe.

"But, all these years, and you never said a word? Dean, I'm your brother, I want to help you, I love you, Man. Please-"

"STOP" Cas cried. Both Winchesters had forgotten he was even there. The angel came forward slowly, standing between them with a pained expression, his back on Dean but in clear defense of him. They were both too excitable right now, and they would never forgive themselves to embarrass or hurt each other. "Now is not the time-"

"Cas-"

"We all need some rest. This can be addressed in the morning" he sighed deeply when Sam finally gave in. Cas turned to Dean, gentle but not pitying, and spoke quietly to him. The hunter didn't meet his gaze, but leaned his cheek into his hand after the momentary shock and fear of the touch. He listened as he whispered "Dean, where are the children?"

"The- the library and the guest room..." He whispered back, like he didn't trust the rough rasp of his voice. Cas nodded patiently.

"How was Dean when you left him?"

"How do you think?" He snarled, but there was no bite. He choked over the sobs hidden in his throat.

"Not well." Castiel replied seriously "We should retire. We can sort it out in the morning."

_"Hey- kid, I know it's rough, but you gotta get this all together." Dean coughed to clear his throat and tried to keep the crawling feeling out of his skin. How could he have ever forgotten? How could he let himself move on to such love, and comfort, and excuse his past? Watching the teenager's trembling frame made him want to throw up with disgust. Not at him- the kid was innocent and damaged and Dean ruined his life. Now, in his 33 year old skin, he'd gotten so damn content that he'd forgotten he was filth. Forgotten he was a whore. Forgot the feeling of being smashed against the slimy bricks of alleyways and foreign hands roaming his skin. "pulling it together" still felt just as impossible as it must to the poor kid wrapped up on himself in front of him. "I'm so sorry..." he choked a little on the phrase. _

_ When he looked up at him, Dean was shocked for a moment at just how young he was. Big wet eyes blinked at him for a second before fixing his gaze on his own fidgeting hands. His lashes clumped together with tears, and the amount of green in his eyes stood out starkly against the bloodshot whites. He was flushed and pale and covered in a soft smattering of freckles. He was just a little kid. _

_ "Do you... do you wanna talk about it?" the words felt stuck in his throat, and he didn't know about the kid, but he sure as Hell didn't want to talk about it. _

_ "...no." _

_ Dean barely refrained from rolling his eyes, it was such a blatant lie. _

_ "You sure about that?" he pried, channeling his best impression of his father when he knew Dean was lying to him. He wasn't sure if it was helpful or not, though, because the kid looked up for all of a second before breaking back into sobs. Wincing, Dean cursed his stupidity and- slowly and excruciatingly carefully- placed his hand on his younger self's trembling shoulder. _

_ "I- I feel like I'm gonna explode or somethin'-!" the kid finally cried between heaving breaths "and... and I know I signed up for this- selling your-yourself like a whore- I DESERVED IT. But, it still... it hurts so bad- I'm so ashamed and-and fucking terrified." he dissolved back into hopeless tears, and Dean settled himself in at his side, wrapping the boy up like he was precious and cradling him close. He was too far gone to even notice Dean's physical attempt at comfort. He couldn't say anything comforting- not without being the world's biggest hypocrite. So, he held him- just a wisp of a malnourished little boy- and waited out the worst of the waterworks. So what if he cried with him for a little while- no one could prove it. When it finally went from sobs to sniffles and the kid was wriggling away from his arms, Dean managed to get his words out. _

_ "Well, I think we oughta get you to bed 'fore you drop." clearing his throat, the hunter unglued himself from the couch and stood to face the puffy eyed, thoroughly wrecked kid he was. " Can ya walk?"_

_ He received a blank nod without eye contact- he breathed an internal sigh of relief- and the boy heaved himself to stand. Dean could've sworn he could hear the muscles groaning, and the kid started to topple just in time for Dean to reach out, catching him like he was made of glass. Without a word, he swept him into a bridal carry with what had to be the lowest complaining rate in the history of Dean Michael Winchester. The kid was just too tuckered out. _

_ The guest room the boys had been staying in was dark and felt cold when Dean pushed open the door and lay the boy- still whimpering and half asleep- in the unmade queen bed. He didn't bother flicking on the lights, but wrapped the teenager tightly in blankets with an amount of care that he'd only ever shown Sammy. His breathing was deep and even and the darkness only highlighted how unhealthily pale he was, but he was still beautiful. Which was a weird thing to stay about your teenage self while watching him sleep._

_ He didn't mean it that way, though. Dean could see the innocence in the kid's face while he was sleeping- not trying to impress anyone or avoid worrying his brother- and he looked like a damn angel. Like the kind with wings and halos and holy light and shit, in the big, old renaissance paintings- he looked pure. And it physically hurt him to think of this poor kid- how far from pure could you get? Guilt struck through him when he thought about how much shit he dragged this kid through- back when he was this kid. _

_ Just how much worse would it get before it got better?_

_ He couldn't look anymore. It was like skinning a puppy, or something. His life had been one huge trainwreck- with good points? Definitely, but none that he helped to happen. He was a burden. This kid deserved better- he deserved love and hope and a fucking high school diploma- _

_ "Does he ever come back?" Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, getting whiplash from the turn he took in the doorway. Dean's eyes glimmered in the dark as he looked at him "Does Dad ever come back?" the unspoken plea in the words burned like salt in a wound._

_ "Yeah- yeah Kiddo. He comes back to you." _


End file.
